Sherlock, Amnesia and his Bestfriend
by WhenYouWishUponAStarr
Summary: After the fall, Sherlock is diagnosed with Amnesia and it is left to John to help him recover, can he save the worlds most loved detective and help him remember or is the army doctor too late? This extract is written in the first person: from John Watson's perspective.
1. The start of the Amnesia

Well, where do I even start with this subject? It's not an easy one but it sure as hell is one that I've needed to get off my chest for quite a while it goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes, a name and a person that everybody has a problem with everyone except for me: I'm stuck in this run down flat day and in day out with the detective hearing him play violin music, experiencing the awful after taste of experimental residue in my food and hear him rambling on and deducing my every move and honestly I wouldn't change him, not for the bloody world I wouldn't change him, although I would be lying if I said there hadn't been times where I wish he would just sod off elsewhere and leave me alone, but life isn't the same without Sherlock.

In fact right now it isn't the same at all and not in the normal way either, Sherlock is currently suffering from a case of Amnesia after the last game that saw Moriarty's demise and himself plummet to the ground (with me watching) off of the roof of St Bart's Hospital and Christ I hated him for putting me through that, I still do but right now he is in no fit state to discuss the matter and is needing constant round the clock attention. The consultants diagnosed him with a 'minor' case of 'temporary' amnesia giving the detective several weeks recovery and a carer to help heal him through this difficult time: that being me. John Watson. The best friend, the army doctor, the one who is always there for Sherlock when he needs him, the one who will stick by that bloody annoying human being no matter how much he insults and hurts him. I will ALWAYS help that man, until my last dying breath.

" **I don't remember, I'm terribly sorry but I really can't remember. Who are you?** "

Sherlock repeats daily and it's been in the same cycle for about three weeks now with no improvement yet.

" _It's okay, Sherlock. You're trying, that's all I ask._ "

I would reply to the practically emotionless detective who sits in that chair of his, staring off into the distance. He has nothing. Still.  
Lunchtime comes around and I'll quickly pop into the kitchen which is considerably nice and rather large without the experiments all over the place, I have managed to enjoy my food on several occasions without having to worry about severed heads in the fridge or other body parts scattered around. Something simple will suffice for now.

" _Sherlock, do you want anything?_ "

I asked, not that he really eats much if at all and as usual he responds with a simple

" **no**."

and continue to sit there almost lifeless.

Christ, I wish there was some way that I could help him he has way too much to throw away. That genius mind needs to get going again. I swiftly attempt to think of a way to switch on his brain once more and fail miserably. Coming back into the room with nothing but self-doubt and half a sandwich, eyes flickering to the man in front of me, the one who looks dull, lifeless and so incredibly done, like he's ready to give up at any moment but that's not Sherlock, that's not really my best friend. This is temporary, and he will get better. He has too, I promised him even though he doesn't remember that part.  
I watch as his head turns to look out of the window and frankly I'm rather relieved that he had achieved such a minor task: there was life in him and something had clearly interested the man, I can't help but smile a little as I take a bite of my food and watch him closely. What in the bloody hell is going through his mind? If there is anything at all.

" **Sunlight, the most important factor for planet earth to survive, it's beautiful isn't it?** "

He questions, those bright blue eyes shimmering from the reflective light off the window and my heart practically bursting with pride, he remembered something. Something minor but still something.

" _Sherlock, we live in the middle of London surrounded by cars, buildings and an interesting variety of people. The sunlight is beautiful, yes but it's more breathtaking in other countries like Africa and India_."

I respond, trying to make use of the precious moments we now have, him and I. Just as it used to be.

I watch him curiously and with another inhale of breath and slight hesitation it's obvious that he had lost all train of thought once more.

There was something, something in his mind had triggered him to remember and I have never felt more alive and even though it didn't last if I hoped progress had certainly been made.

" **I'm sorry, was I saying something? I don't seem to recall the subject we were talking about if we were talking at all.** "

" _It's okay. You were just talking about the sun._ "

A pained tone in my voice came to him.

" **Why are you sad?** "

It was obvious that Sherlock was now querying my mood the ability to read people hadn't failed him this time. A frown pasted on his face as he looked towards me with those empty eyes.

" _I'm not sad, I'm just concerned_ ** _._** "

That was a lie, I was sad, but I couldn't tell him that. Sherlock didn't deal with emotions very well. I'd get more sympathy out of a brick wall. Things would be left unsaid, for now.

" **Concerned?** "

" _Yes, concerned. Concerned that you won't get better._ "

 **"Better?"**

I nod.

" **Care to explain?** "

In all honesty I had no idea where to start but if Sherlock was close to remembering then it was only right to tell him: he would only whine and insist more, later on, that was the problem with his mind, it was a rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions and all of a sudden it's come to a halt and crashed now it was a jumbled mess that was desperately attempting to piece itself back together again.

" _You had an accident, Sherlock. A very nasty and tragic accident."_

I began, Christ where the bloody hell was I going with this.

" **Like a car accident?** "

" _No, Sherlock. You threw yourself off a building. Took on a bloody challenge against Moriarty, you complete and utter twat! You made me believe that it was real, that I had lost you and that you were-!_ "

It hurt to say the last bit, but I couldn't stop myself.

" _Dead_."

Then it was almost as if his memory had been jolted and honest to god I was slightly beside myself with intrigue and fear, how in the hell did his brain do that? His genius mind had switched itself back on, even for a moment but this idiot was remembering, and it had to be the sodding last part of the conversation, didn't it?

" **I'm sorry, John….** "

I blinked and resisted punching the bastard right in the face several times.  
" _I'm sorry, what?_ "

Had my mind been playing delusional tricks on me? Tiredness, pain and stress can really take its toll on people, so it wouldn't have been a surprise if this was some dream. But then there it was again, more meaningful, more emotional, more, well more Sherlock.

" **I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry for everything.** "

How I didn't faint was a goddamn miracle, Sherlock **never** apologised, he still doesn't, not sincerely anyway and yet here he was practically pouring his heart out to me.

" **I-ugh, why can't I remember?!** "

He practically yelled, smacking a half-full cup of coffee over and letting it hit the floor: at least he was feeling something, coming to terms with what was around him and right now that was all that mattered to me, I was getting my best friend back.

" **I took all my time to remember and now my brain fails me, it's taken me about…. how long?**!"

" _Three weeks_."

" **Three weeks! Just to remember who you are to me, I should have known, I should have remembered the voice and face of my dearest friend. Yet I didn't instead I failed you, I'm a mess, John. Fix me.** "

Sherlock Holmes had resorted to begging me for help, practically tearing up and close to breaking point that was when I knew I had to comfort the detective. So, I did and with a swift push of my own body up and out of the chair, I headed in his direction and knelt beside him taking his hand and giving a small smile up at him. He appreciated that. A lot. Although he doesn't ever admit it to me, I could see it.

" _Of course, I will, Sherlock. I won't leave you._ "

I promised.

That reassured him slightly, knowing that he had his best friend by his side and holding his hand which had proved rather comfortable to the detective, his mannerism and eyes showed it completely, all he needed was patience, care, a slight push every now and then, friendship and love, although Sherlock doesn't really have anybody who shows that they love him, I do but I don't count. I'm only his friend, ours is more platonic, I was talking about family. Mycroft hadn't even been around to visit him regardless of my efforts to try and persuade him with endless texts and phone calls but it hadn't worked, Sherlock's big brother wasn't coming to see him and all the others were busy: so that left me, on my own, to deal with him.

" _You're my best friend and the best human being that I know and I promise you right now that I am going to get you better, even if it kills me._ "


	2. A slight remembrance

It's been another two days and there still isn't much change in Sherlock's condition, I'm trying desperately hard to get him to remember the simplest things but that is proving difficult: not only is it the amnesia but the fact that the detective is a bloody stubborn git when he wants to be. Honestly, I tried to read him one of his favourite books earlier and he told me to sod off and stared out of the window like nothing had ever happened – of course, I left the room very pissed off and frustrated. Still, at least there aren't any experiments to add to my anger, there's always that.

But I miss him, Oh god I miss him, as I said before life really isn't the same without Sherlock and his outlook on things and if this bloody amnesia takes a serious turn and he forgets who he is forever than I don't know what I am going to do – however that won't happen, I won't let it. I promised him that he would get better and if that means me being up and available to him constantly for the next several weeks then so be it – I need my best friend back, it's quiet without his sarcastic remarks and his protesting, calling me simple was also his favourite thing to do, that is one thing that I do not miss though, not in the slightest.

Heading into the sitting room after breakfast, I grabbed the laptop and began to log in, letting out a soft sigh as the blog flashed up in front of me, the blog of Sherlock and I and all the adventures we had been on and trust me there was a lot – some he obviously hadn't agreed with back when he had been well but it was clear that I noted them down anyway, people seemed to like the blog and I'm certainly not giving it up: not unless I really need to. Raising a brow towards the detective, who was narrowing his eyes at completely nothing out of the window I started to read thinking that this would jolt is memory back into the unnerving pace that it always went at – oh god I hoped so, I wanted this and it was evident that Sherlock did too, still one good thing had come out of all my hard work, he could finally remember my name. It wasn't a big deal, but it was progress and honest to bloody God I nearly cried when he said it yesterday afternoon at dinner. My heart bursting with joy and pride.

Mycroft or the others still haven't been to visit, by the way, maybe they seem to think that I can handle it alone and that I am the best person for the job, I tried sending out several more texts to people but it was no use – no response has been given so I'll probably give up trying, they'll see Sherlock when they're ready but for now it's just me and him whether that twat likes it or not.

For now, Sherlock seems to be enjoying me reading articles from the blog – especially one about the water supply and the poison that lay within it, hell I don't think I have ever seen him that excited and into a case since Baskerville, it certainly had been an intriguing and thrilling one for the detective and myself and we cracked the case in under 3 hours something that I'm proud of, even though Sherlock said it would have taken a lot less time if I wasn't so simple or ordinary, not that those types of insults phase me much anymore, that's pretty much the topic that arises in every conversation that I have with him – obviously not at the moment but you get the picture.

 _"Do you remember much about this one, Sherlock?"_

I asked, raising a brow as he had been shifting in his chair in a rather uncomfortable manner, so it seemed, it made me wonder if I had said something to upset him, but I wouldn't question it, diverting his mind was the key to keeping him focused.

 **"Hmmm?"**

He responds, turning his head to look at me with no expression on his face, which frankly left me a bit confused, he had to be feeling something otherwise the shifting wouldn't be occurring, I'll get it out of him, eventually.

 _"The case on the blog, do you remember much about it?"_

 **"What blog?"**

 _"Our blog, Sherlock. The one what I type out on the laptop after every case—"_

 **"Oh. No, I don't."**

 _"Not even one thing?"_

 **"…. No."**

 _"You hesitated. It's okay if you don't really remember much, I get that by why were you shifting so much?"_

" **I wasn't, was I?"**

That was when another sigh escaped me, for a moment his mind had been ferociously turning over and over to try and remember everything he had ever learned and after a split second it had been taken again, not that it surprised me much, I was used to this after three bloody weeks but I wished that there would soon be some more progress on his behalf, Sherlock isn't the usual type to just sit around and dwell on things all day, he's the type of man who needs to feel the adrenaline of a new case or the satisfaction of taking the piss out of people and watching them cry, okay maybe that's a bit of an over-dramatic statement on the last part, he does take the piss out of people a lot though and has made several individuals cry, something I can assure you that I deeply reprimanded him for.

Regardless of his current status and what seemed to be uncomfortable shifting, I decided to give the blog conversation another go, watching the other with an overwhelming need of anticipation, I needed him to think of something- the doctor was coming to visit us in another two days and I know for a fact that he wants to see some progression in his memory. There he sat nevertheless, dull, down and in his chair, enjoying the gentle breeze that was coming through the window, I had opened the window for Sherlock just so he could get some air and hell, he might have even gotten up once or twice to peer out properly – to say I felt happy would be the understatement of the century and there he was now, standing at the window in nothing but his pyjamas but for that split moment he looked so much more alive and well, like Sherlock.

" _Sherlock?_ "

I questioned again, placing the laptop to the side of me, hoping that it didn't burn a hole in the bloody table like it had done last time.

 **"Yes, John?"**

 _"Do you- do you remember anything about what you used to do? Anything at all."_

I'm hoping that there is something in his brain. God please, there has be something left.

" **I remember you, I hired you after sitting in a lab with – what's her name?** "

 _"Molly?"_

" **Yes, that's it. Molly! You handed me your phone to make a phone call or send a text, was that it?"**  
He asked, turning around to face me for a second. I would have hugged him there and then, but I couldn't just leap on him, he's taller than me for a start and it would be awkward. But I was pleased that he remembered.

" _Yes. Well done, Sherlock. I'm proud of you, well done."_

 **"I'll always remember my closest friends, John. You know that.** "

I blinked back the tears and slowly stood to join him at the window. That was enough information for today.


	3. The Final Diagnosis

This is it, the day of the doctors visit for Sherlock, the day that we shall find out the truth about how bad the amnesia really is and to say I'm calm would be a lie. I'm nervous and haven't managed to eat or sleep properly, at least Sherlock had gotten to sleep – having drifted off into a light sleep at around two in the morning, he had wanted to be in his chair all night so I daren't move him but this morning, I needed too. I needed to get him dressed up in one of his suits and get him looking pleasant and all perfect for the doctor to come and see him, he couldn't visit him in this state: he would think I hadn't been looking after him and that is far from the truth.

" _Come on, Sherlock. You need to get ready, the doctor is coming to how you are today, and I can't have you looking messy, link your arm around me._ "

The order was simple to most folk but not to one who stared into space and zoned out from the rest of the world, Sherlock then grunted at me and tried to push me away not wanting to co-operate and in all fairness I didn't blame the poor guy, I wouldn't want to be poked and prodded in this condition only for someone to tell me the brutal truth ( Sherlock would more than likely forget it after a few minutes anyway.) about my health and then up and leave for someone else to pick up the pieces. Christ, Sherlock was a heavy man to get up, not that he's overweight or anything, maybe it's due to my shortness that everyone keeps referring too, I don't really have much advantage in winning battles with people who are taller than me. That, unfortunately, is my downfall, but I had to get Sherlock ready and I wasn't about to give up easily.

" **Get off me, John!** "

He protested, trying his best to remain glued to his chair as much as possible, flailing his arms around in the most ridiculous manner, where the hell was the help when it was needed the most, it had to be today of all sodding days that Sherlock decided to play up for me, as if I wasn't already stressed enough.

" _Sherlock, you're not doing this! Not now! Get up!_ "

I had to shout at him slightly, it seemed that being stern was the only way to get around the detective and make him listen and unlike usual he gave him and stood with me letting me guide him to the bedroom to get dressed, his arm was hooked over my shoulders as he made his way inside taking his time not to fall. Once we were inside I allowed him to try and pick some clothes for himself which consisted of him staring into the wardrobe and blinking at all the garments inside, again his brain had failed him, hell was it really that bad now that he couldn't get himself dressed? Still, we had to be ready and so I wasted no time in getting the clothes for him and helped him get ready. That was the Sherlock I knew, those black trousers, the white button up shirt and the suit jacket that hung loosely off of him along with some socks and black shoes, he could kill me later if he remembered.

" _There you go, that wasn't so bad, was it?_ "

Sherlock then turned his head to me, narrowing his eyes. Great. Why did he have to be all weird now? The doctor was due to arrive at the door in approximately five minutes and I hadn't even managed to get Sherlock to eat yet, not that he really seemed bothered by the company of food just yet – honestly, I think he was nervous but he wouldn't admit it, I respected that and wouldn't pry to him about it. The only thing that mattered to me was getting the truth and the correct healing time, I know I'm a doctor myself and I bloody wished that some other person didn't have to come out, but this field isn't my area of expertise I'm afraid. Honestly, to heal Sherlock would be a godsend the tiredness and the stress I had been put under was incredibly lumbering and it was surprising how long I was keeping going and I would until this sod was better. He really did love to do this, instil me with crippling worry and turn out not to be as bad as he made it out to be, yes I hate it but I was hoping that it was true in this case.

A knock at the door then came and honestly a lump formed in the back of my throat and the heart of mine was beating at several beats per minute, nervous was not the word to use but with a swift answer to the door the doctor flashed a grin and headed inside to see Sherlock, whom I had given strict instructions too asking him to stay in the bedroom and not give the doctor any issues but for god sakes this guy forgot his right from his left and asking this of him would even prove a challenge but I had faith in him that he could behave and let the man do his work, the fact that it was at home annoyed me, to say the least knowing that they had proper equipment at the hospital but since Sherlock was deemed unfit to head outside for at least a month and we were still inside the house rest period, the guy had no choice but to come and assess my best friend in the flat and I watched him. Oh, I bloody watched him carefully. Watched as he asked Sherlock a series of questions and did a variety of tests on him, some which looked to be ridiculous but then again if it made him better I was all for it.

The man recorded his findings on the chart and started to compare them to what seemed to be a previous chart of Sherlock's brain stability and memory fluidity, appearing to be from just after he fell and was shacked up in a hospital bed – I can't lie, the graph looked a mess and I prayed that his brain had improved: I'm not a religious person but for a split second my eyes closed and I mouthed several things under my breath in a desperate attempt to put myself at ease, begging like some school child. Why did he have to keep us waiting? Opening my eyes to find him leaning over the chart still was not something I wanted to see.

" _Sorry, can you tell us what's going on please?_ "

It was then that he looked up towards me, a small frown on his featured. God no. No, it couldn't be.

"Indeed, I can. According to my findings, Mr Holmes has made a massive improvement over the last three weeks, his memory ability and brain activity have stretched up the chart and I am very happy with his progress and that is all thanks to you, Dr Watson."

Thank Christ, he was okay and on the mend.

" _Thank-you. Thank-you so much buddy. Really—_ "

How I stopped myself from hugging him was a bloody miracle, instead the offer of a handshake greeted him, and he willingly accepted.

"However—He will need a brain scan to determine that exact time of recovery, in the meanwhile I'll give a rough estimate that he will be fully recovered within the next week or two."

That was a relief, guess trying to relax as much as possible would be on the agenda before I was running around alongside Sherlock non-stop. The thrill was certainly needed though. Why couldn't he heal faster? These things couldn't be rushed through which is understandable.

Saying goodbye to the doctor and seeing him out of the door, I then took a moment to myself to let the emotions go, finally letting go of all that pent up tiredness and stress that had overtaken my body in the past weeks, allowing myself to cry made me feel a hell of a lot better and after ten minutes, composure happened and I could focus on the task at hand – Sherlock.

Heading back into him to find the detective staring out of the window once again, I frowned softly. It was almost as if he was eager to get out and explore everything that he missed, maybe it would be good to help him remember, he was on the mend after-all and if I was with him it couldn't do any harm, could it?

" **Please, John**."

His deep husky voice almost begged, almost as if he bloody knew what I was thinking, even with this condition he still knew how to be a complete and utter git and get around me. For the first time, a chuckle left me, and I guided him out of the bedroom and helped him get his coat.

" _Come on then but you breathe a word of this to anybody and I'll bloody murder you._ "

He chuckled back softly in response, slowly pulling on his familiar coat and smiling softly: it was great to see him happy and without hesitation, we walked through the door and out into the fresh, crisp London air.


	4. Sherlock's First Outing in Weeks

Sherlock had finally gone out and about after the visit from the doctor and he seemed to have been enjoying it, I on the other hand was trying desperately hard to watch out for hazards that could deter my best-friend, curbs seemed to be the worst: I think he actually fell over one at some point, not fully but he stumbled into the middle of the road, right in front of a taxi and I am not afraid to admit that I facepalmed and then apologised to the taxi driver several times after making sure Sherlock was alright. The taxi-man was fine after I gave him some money for the 'shock' and 'compensation', normally I wouldn't do it, but it saved an argument and after everything that had been taking its toll on me that would have been the last thing I wanted. I could understand his shock however, Sherlock was meant to be dead to the world, Mycroft hadn't exactly lifted anything and revealed the secret to everybody yet, I knew that I had to keep the detective on the down-low for the time being which would prove difficult for me, Sherlock wasn't one to really do as he was told anyway so with this illness and him getting confused it would prove even more difficult but I knew I couldn't get him home – not yet, we hadn't long come out and it was obvious to me that he wanted to go exploring which impressed me just a little bit, surely that meant more progress, brilliant!

"Sherlock, you need to be more careful of the roads okay? That man nearly hit you and frankly I think he was more shocked than you were. Poor man nearly had a heart attack—"

I stated, guiding him back to the pavement and towards the direction of the alleys, which I'm pretty certain led to a place Sherlock loved a lot, don't ask why, he just takes a lot of interest in a certain area of town, maybe it's the clues or the sounds or the fact that he just does it to wind me up, I'd rather avoid the area all together but maybe for now, it would jolt his memory, another few weeks had been diagnosed but I was determined to forward it too sooner – like I keep saying, things weren't and still aren't the same without him.

We walked, not very far and for only about five minutes until we reached the place that he loves, a little park that was hidden behind some buildings, I really have no bloody clue what it's doing there or why it was even there in the first place but I didn't intend on sticking around there for too long, still we were out of the public eye – I just hoped that he wouldn't say he was hungry, it was mid-afternoon at this point and lunch hadn't been given since he was in such a desperate rush to get out – hell I hadn't even had chance to grab any money or food for us to take so he would have to wait until we reached home, which wasn't very far away.

At the park, Sherlock then stumbled over to a little bench, falling into it and muttering a few words under his breath – I won't repeat them but I can assure you they weren't the pleasant kind, how very typical of him to remember these subconsciously, yes he never usually swears when he's well, only towards Mycroft from time to time but of course he's going to know bloody swear words, he knows everything else after-all. Anyway, I decided to join Sherlock on the bench and watched him with a raised brow, what the hell was this man doing? All he did was sit there and look up at the sky, I was confused but decided not to question it – he was quiet and behaving at the least.

 **"Can you feel that?"**

He suddenly asked, causing me to blink in confusion towards him, I hated it when he did this, ask a question that had a million different answers, I would only get mocked on whatever one I chose – even the sick Sherlock Holmes knew how to mock from time to time.

"Hmmm?"

I questioned back.

 **"Can you feel /that/?"**

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. What?"

 **"Freedom, it feels so good to be free-"**

I cleared my throat, nodding. This was…new.

"Yes…. It does."

Honestly agreeing with him would be the best thing to do in situations like these, it never ended well for me if I didn't but I would be lying if I said it didn't feel good to be free from that stuffy flat of ours, we had been cooped up in there for nearly a month without any social interaction or air – apart from the wind blowing through the window from time to time but this fresh air and a change of scenery was exactly what the both of us needed, maybe it would do him good to get out and about, it would allow him to expand his thought process and hopefully deduce more than one thing at a time, the doctor should be right about him remembering – that's what I hoped anyway.

That was when he fell silent once again and I honestly don't think I could take much more of the dread, he better not be bloody forgetting again, not now, not after the doctor promised me that he would make a speedy recovery and get better – I couldn't watch Sherlock slip away again, especially since he had come so far, I had to keep positive and so decided to prompt him a little bit, maybe a few questions would help. What the hell would I say to him? I hadn't a bloody clue where to start.

"Ahem - So how are you feeling today?" I was hoping for a good answer, praying to God even though I'm not in the slightest bit religious – it was just something to prepare me if there was to be a terrible answer but thankfully there wasn't, Sherlock simply just looked at me, smiled slightly and responded calmly.

 **"I'm fine, thank you. I'm just trying to think about something. Something in particular, I - I remember this place."**

"You do?"

 **"Yes, I remember it. We've been here before, on a case or something. Right?** "

"I don't know, I - I think so, we've been to so many places, Sherlock."

 **"The case of the murder in the park, that was here –"** he spoke, furrowing his brows in a puzzled manner, gesturing his hands to motion towards the bit of concrete that was led not to far away from where we had been sitting, that was where the body had been found apparently, at least it was when Sherlock examined it – not that I remembered much of this bloody case, we had been on so many but it probably ended up in him calling me stupid and insulting me until I felt like smacking him right in that mouth of his: my heart burst with pride at this moment though, Sherlock was finally becoming himself again, something that we had all wished for.

"Well done, Sherlock. Now –" I state, pushing myself up from the bench and allowing myself to have a stretch: raising a brow down at the other. "I don't know about you but I'm pretty hungry, and if my memory serves me correct - and don't make a bloody comment, even when you're ill it's no excuse to be a twat – then I believe that there's a chip van not to far from here." I was hoping he would say yes, it was true, I was hungry, bloody ravenous actually: I didn't want to spend the rest of my afternoon reliving murder cases when there was food going, I hadn't eaten much in days. Thankfully, he just looked up and nodded to me, pushing himself up off the bench also, straightening out his beloved coat.

" **Lead the way, John. If you can remember it, that is.** " He stated with a small smirk.

I scoff.

We then walked side by side to the chip van.

This bastard truly was getting back to his normal self, thank Christ. Yes he was tired, I could tell, being cooped up and sick was really taking his toll on him but he was trying, he wanted this just as much as I did - possibly even more and it was bloody great for me to see him walking along once more, a few weeks ago this wouldn't have happened - but I'd rather not relive that, shaking my head in disbelief at his comment I then walk beside him in silence. 

Sherlock's mind was growing rapidly, that bastard certainly had his humour back, insulting as it was, I would be lying if I said I hadn't missed it.


	5. The Waiting Game

This is it, I am led to believe that Sherlock has made a full recovery: over the last week things have happened, he deduced where Mrs Hudson had been, picked up his violin for the first time and played a little tune, yes it wasn't the best but it was a tune all the same, hell he even insulted me more times than ever before, he was certainly on the road to becoming himself again, my worries were put behind me and I think it was safe to say by this point that I could at least relax a little bit – it wasn't like he needed constant supervision anymore, yes he needed watching but I didn't physically guide him places, make him food or even just sit and watch him for hours, it was a load off my shoulders: that doesn't mean that he can go off outside on his own or even solve a case just yet but he's getting there, we both are. I just hope the git appreciates everything I've done for him over these past few months, even if he didn't, I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping my best-friend safe and away from the dangers of the world. Even though dangers filled him with joy, I wasn't about to let what caused this bloody illness within him happen again.

Today Sherlock and I have his final scan to attend and although it isn't until five in the afternoon I want to get him ready and prepared for whatever the hell it flashes up with but like usual he has other things on his mind – things that he classes as important and honest to God he's been sat in his chair for almost three hours mumbling stuff that makes no sense to me – he then looked up suddenly, making me look up from the laptop, concerned. What the hell does he want from me?

He then pushed himself up and out of the chair without a word and headed over towards the window, picking up his violin and preparing to play: on my part it's very concerning, what on earth was all that looking up and silence for? Who knew what the bloody hell went on in his mind, I just left him to it, that sounds bad doesn't it? But I was growing tired and I wasn't in the mood to deal with much: I have to though for his sake, he's never given up on me, not really so why should I give up on him? Placing the laptop aside I glance up at the clock.

3pm.

I have time to make myself a coffee and look presentable before tracking to the hospital with the detective, perfect. Althoug being a medic myself I know that you can't pick up amnesia on a scan, they're probably searching for other things and checking the function of his brain.

The coffee break ran smoothly, and it was the first time in a long time that I could complete it with no residue to be found still – I thought that I could get used to this lifestyle but things weren't the same, this life: without the cases, the thrill of the chase, the blog. It had all come to a halt and frankly, it had turned normal, much to normal even for my liking. Christ what the hell am I saying? I really am starting to sound like my best-friend, ahem, anyway: heading into the kitchen to put my cup away, I quickly washed it up before smiling softly at the beautiful sound of the slow, melodic tune that Sherlock was playing on the violin. I always wanted to try and take up an instrument myself and gave one a go when I was about ten but I could never get to grips with it and in the army I certainly wasn't allowed one, not that it bothered me that much, I soon got over it.

Sherlocks playing lasted for a good hour and I was starting to get worried that we would be late to see the doctor, this appointment was a crucial one – yes we both knew that he would get better within a week or two but this one was to determine whether there was any underlying conditions and if I'm being honest, I wasn't ready for the outcome just yet incase it was bad – I wanted to hold on to Sherlock even if he wasn't the same, a different Sherlock is better than no Sherlock at all. Stepping out from the doorway and moving to stand to the side of him, I gently clear my throat to get his attention, softly smiling as he gave me a quick side eye before placing the instrument down gently and propping it up against a wall.

"It's time."

I said quietly, swallowing down every last bit of nervous emotions that I had. I knew now that I needed to continue being strong, we were almost there, almost through this dreaded bloody illness – or we had to do was (hopefully) go for one more scan, determine that he's well, get a bit more of his memory back and everything would be perfect, I refused to lose myself, not now.

Sherlock then looked over at the clock with a raised brow, letting out a sigh and brushing down his suit, I could tell he didn't want to go but unfortunately he had to, he wouldn't take himself there and no other 'friend' would take him – hell not even Mycroft would, can you imagine his embarrassment of walking into the hospital with Sherlock? I'd save everyone the hassle and save the day – like I always do. I won't give up. I watch him make the final touches to his suit and then head to get my coat.

"Yes. I suppose it is." Sherlock then spoke quietly, it was a little bit of a delay but that was fine.  
"I - I don't want to go, John. I know I have this….thing but I remember the doctor being here and telling us that I need a scan to determine if anything else was wrong, what if there is something else, John?"

Honestly this was the first time I had ever seen him scared, properly bloody scared. He was almost white and sick with fear and I'm not exaggerating either. It unnerved me a little but I didn't pry, that would only make him worse and I didn't particularly want him to become difficult or sick for that matter, I simply sighed and slipped his coat onto him after getting mine, it was the least I could do after-all.

"Nothing will be wrong, Sherlock. I promise you and even if there is - I'll look after you, I made a vow to care for you, didn't I?"

"How sentimental of you, John."

"What?"

"Sentiment is part of caring, therefore I called your gesture sentimental."

"Sherlock-!"

"Yes?"

"Please just….walk."

With a roll of his eyes, the detective then made his way out of the flat with me locking up and following behind, luckily we were out of there at exactly ten minutes past four leaving us fifty minutes to get to the hospital, I just hoped that this wouldn't trigger a memory for Sherlock, we were going to the place that he -

Well the place he fell from.

I was praying that somehow he wouldn't looked up at the building when we arrived and after much arguing on the way we finally reached the destination, one in which I wanted to get away from as quickly as possible, thankfully Sherlock never acknowledged the outside and headed straight inside and over to one of the nurses who was situated by the desk in the front of the reception, I smiled but Sherlock just narrowed his eyes and I knew exactly what he was doing – deductions. Always a good sign but why the hell did he do it now? What had he picked up? I nudged him slightly in a hope that it would stop him from being rude and then guided him to a chair after I got him all logged in and down to the right department, now all we had to do was wait, the truth was right around the corner.

Literally. 


	6. The Game is On

The waiting room was rather quiet at this time of day, thankfully. It reminded me of being at work in the surgery but I didn't want to really think about any of that right now the main focus was the man who was sitting right next to me, one who was about to find out if he had completely recovered – of course he had, I bloody knew it and so did he but orders were orders and all he had to do was get over this final hurdle, have the scan, wait for the results to see if any other damage occurred to the brain at the result of his fall and then head home and hopefully continue with his life just like he used too, it would also be good for me too ( if the results were great ) I could finally get on with my life again and live it happily alongside Sherlock.

Sherlock's nerves were growing more and more rapidly with each passing second: yes, he tried to hide it but he couldn't, not from me anyway – I was so used to this man that I knew exactly what he was like and could almost figure out what he was thinking, I daren't bloody ask if he was okay though, not now. I didn't want to be embarrassed in front of the nurses and doctors who were walking by not to mention the other handful of people who were sat just a few steps away from us, they were nice enough though and by this time I was praying that he would keep his mouth shut just for a few more moments , I couldn't be dealing with any of the deductions today, especially since the other patients consisted of an elderly couple and a mum with her baby who looked about two, a man and his son, a teenager sat on her own and another old lady who was sat in the corner – I wasn't in the mood to fight with anybody or have to profusely apologize a million times because of Sherlock's actions, not now.

"Mr Holmes?" The nurse called, stepping out of her room with a small smile on her face, recognising the detective almost instantly as soon as her eyes scanned across the room and that was when we both knew that there was no other way around this – he had to go in. I stood first, dragging the detective up a little bit and then clenched my fists down by my side – nervously, following Sherlock into the room a few moments later and then took a seat well away from them both but remained close enough, so I could hear what the discussion was.

"So, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Jones said that you are making a remarkable recovery." She stated, picking up a clipboard and looking through his notes.

"How very nice of him to notice..." Sherlock responded in a sarcastic manner, rolling his eyes as he sat back in the chair to watch the nurse, I could tell that he didn't want to be here but after the stern talking too that I gave him yesterday he was refraining the urge to get up and walk out of the room, it didn't take much but a look for me to get him to sit still – finally he did and soon enough he found himself in the x-ray room ready to go. The machine started to beep and make several noises as it scanned through his brain, I had to sit in the other room along with the doctor, nurse and the radiologist, not that I was really meant to be in there, but Sherlock was insistent on keeping me in it was the only way that the people would get any sort of co-operation out of him. The scan lasted for a good twenty minutes and I could see the images of his brain on the computer in front of me being aware that none of it looked damaged or swollen so that was a good sign, but I was only an army doctor and these things were almost foreign to me. I wasn't qualified to do any of this however if these people knew what they were doing then it wouldn't bother me as much.

The scan soon finished, myself along with Sherlock got escorted out of the x-ray room and back into the waiting area, where we once again took a seat: the two options were to wait for the results for a maximum of a week or have them fast tracked and get them within ten minutes – we opted for the second choice even though there would probably be a charge but not that it mattered since it was to do with Sherlock's health – there was no price on his wellbeing that was for sure. I could honestly say that they were the longest ten minutes of our lives, Sherlock was getting restless, I had to play father figure and keep him from misbehaving and keep an eye out on the doctors at the same time, the same nurse called us back into the room and sat us down – with another guy who appeared to look familiar to the radiographer. This was the moment of truth.

" _Sorry, could you tell us please?"_ I asked, staring at him solemnly. My patience was wearing thin, I knew he had a job to do but even, so my nerves and anticipation were getting the better of me and making my anger loom over me like some sickening shadow. The anticipation was killing us all, we needed to know.

"Yes…" He stated a few seconds after my question, holding the scan upto the light and narrowing his blue eyes, I could see what he was thinking. It was bad surely, it had to be. Nobody pulls that face for no reason. I closed my eyes and waited for the news, Sherlock was brain damaged, I bloody knew he was. I needed to hear the words from him though, it wouldn't be official until he told us. Christ, even Sherlock was getting nervous.  
"Well it looks to me as tho you have made a speedy recovery Mr. Holmes and there appears to be no further damage to your brain. The amnesia has been confirmed to have cleared up from the test that my colleague ran on you several days ago and you are right as rain again."

Thank Christ.

Bloody hell.

Relieved was an understatement and it wasn't until I found myself hugging the dude that I broke, emotionally. So many feelings had been pent up and hidden and it seemed that they were making their way out, I soon gained composure and smiled to Sherlock who was adjusting himself in the corner of the room, admiring himself in the small mirror above the doctor's desk. He then noticed me and turned to smile back, rather charmingly.

God no what was I saying? He's my friend, my best-friend and that's all he will ever be, I can't let my emotions run away with me too much – yes, he was out of the woods, but Sherlock didn't really appreciate people being all sentimental and gooey, so I was trying my best to keep strong, for his sake.

"Thankyou, really. Thanks for everything." I stated to the doctor, exiting the room with the detective and out into the fresh air. Still not quite believing that he was better – it was time for the ridiculing and other horrible things to begin – although I should say the fun, I missed it. God, I missed it so much and now everything could get back to normal, the way they had been before all of this happened.

 _"So.."_

I cleared my throat, feeling like I had just coughed up a huge burden, the tension lifting from my body.  
 _"Umm, what now? Do you want to go home?"_

 **"No, I want to go and visit Mycroft. I have a little favour to ask of him."**  
 _"It better not be anything to do with borrowing his ID badge, we all know what happened the last time you did that, it didn't end well for either of us, especially me. You weren't the one who got the entire lecture from your big brother."_

 **"You got a lecture from Mycroft?"**

" _Yes, I did tell you that_."

 **"No, you didn't."**

 _"I did, Sherlock."_

" **No matter come now John. We have business to attend. Pull up your phone, access the blog and make sure there are some interesting cases coming through, you did announce that it was all back up and running, didn't you?"**

" _Of course, I did."_

I pulled out my phone and quickly scrolled through the blog, raising a brow at the endless number of queries that were coming through.

 _"This one-"_

" **NO! I am not dealing with a glow in the dark animal again, find something else. Wait, this one looks interesting, John. Call Lestrade. In the meantime, we will need Mycroft's assistance. Come along**."

He summoned a taxi, getting in it after it pulled up.  
 **  
"The game is on**."

I smiled happily, getting in beside him.

This would be a breeze. This case. We had after-all gotten through the hardest one over the past month. We could do anything, my best friend could do anything. The incredible man that is known as Sherlock Holmes. 


End file.
